Zoe Holohan

So I don't know what he was thinking in his final moments, but he passed and dad was my, you know, my biggest ally, my cheerleader.

So he, he was also taken from me and I couldn't even attend his funeral because I was still in intensive care.

My poor family, who expected, you know, to see me, if not well, at least conscious and able to speak when I returned home, had to once again visit me in intensive care.

And this time the prognosis really wasn't looking good.

So they basically told them to say their goodbyes.

When I eventually awoke utterly confused, no idea where I was, connected to all these beeping machines.

It was a very confusing awakening, but I realized that actually I was in a worse off place than I'd started when I left Greece.

And the next few months I would spend in hospital learning how to walk, talk, eat, breathe and use my hands again.

Everything, how would I put it, everything psychological, everything emotional was put on freeze frame because all of my energy for so long in the hospital was put into physical survival.

I literally was fighting with every fibre of my being to physically survive.

So when I got home, it was like...

This grief bomb just exploded.

And I suddenly realized I didn't want to be here anymore.

My two favorite people were gone.

Brian, my soulmate, dad, who really was my best pal.

Even my cat had passed away from sadness while I was in hospital for so long.

And I was disfigured.

You know, I was looking towards life in a dramatically altered physique.

I had complex grief and horrific PTSD.

The flashbacks were absolutely terrifying and they could be set off by the weirdest things.